


Craving

by dark_descent



Series: Getting to Know You [3]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Top!Eve (kinda sorta), but also with Villanelle literally on top, explicit stuff y’all, pure unadulterated smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25167124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_descent/pseuds/dark_descent
Summary: Eve has a fetish.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Getting to Know You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790680
Comments: 15
Kudos: 175





	Craving

There are a few things Villanelle has come to know about Eve since they started this tentative dance of a relationship.

Eve likes a ridiculous amount of sugar and just a spot of milk in her coffee, a combination that Villanelle could never, for the life of her, figure out how to get right.

Eve is a terrible cook. She had attempted to make Villanelle an omelet once, and the end product had looked like someone had taken a giant shit on her plate and garnished it with chives. So, for the most part, Villanelle cooks, or they order in. Eve is limited to breakfast food (cold cereals and toast) and sandwiches. The oven is absolutely off-limits now too. It took them forever to scrape all the cheese off the racks the last time Eve tried to make a pizza.

Eve babbles. She’ll go on and on about a subject–no matter what it is–for hours unless Villanelle physically stops her, with a refilled drink or a subtle grasp of the ass. Or sometimes even a kiss.

Eve gets notoriously philosophical after her third drink. Its all “Existential dread this, what’s the point of living that…”. But after her fifth drink, she slips into the adorable touchy-feely Eve, who is her absolute favourite. Or maybe her second favourite. Aggressive Eve is her number one.

Sex has never been like this for her before; It had always been a rushed and clunky affair and didn’t involve much kissing at all. For her sex has always been rather frantic, a need to dominate and conquer; a heated rush that didn’t always necessarily involve removing all of her clothes as long she and whoever she was with got what they both wanted. It’s certainly never felt like this, so all-consuming, exhilarating, and utterly terrifying. She wants to come alive under Eve’s touch. She wants to let Eve devour every inch of her body, and more than that, she wants to do the same for Eve in return. It’s more than a want; it’s an aching need that hums relentlessly beneath the surface of her skin.

She is always paying attention to what makes Eve tick, what turns her on. She knows that if she runs a single finger along Eve’s ribs, with a touch lighter, gentler, than a feather, Eve will shudder and smile. That if she moves against Eve’s thigh, spreading the wetness she can feel growing again all over the warm, smooth skin of Eve’s leg, Eve will arch and press harder, harder into her, biting unconsciously at her lower lip as she does. That if she bends her head to take one of Eve’s breasts into her mouth, if she licks at Eve’s taut nipple, flicks her tongue over the tip, Eve will gasp and look at her with eyes so dark they’re almost black.

Tonight she was hoping she could add something else to the list of things that made Eve tick. She was planning to prove a theory. The thought had come to her, out of the blue, a couple of days ago.

Eve had a fetish.

Oh, she hadn’t -- wouldn’t -- admit it, but she did. There was no doubt about it. Villanelle had tested her theory a few times and was about to test it yet again because it fascinated her. Because the fetish was about her.

Or rather, her arms.

Yep, Eve had an arm fetish. And Eve especially liked it when she wore tank tops that showed them off. Looking down at her leather-clad arms, she flexed them.

With a last grin aimed at the mirror, she padded to the bedroom to find Eve. For one final test, to prove her theory. And to get lucky. Because seeing Eve’s fetish in action turned her on, big time.

Eve was curled up on the bed, reading her latest true crime magazine, her hair tied at the top of her head in a makeshift bun with a pen through it, clad in tights, and a ratty t-shirt, with her feet propped on a pillow.

“Hey,” she said, stopping a few steps away, with her hands on her hips, making sure Eve had an unobstructed view.

Eve turned her head to look at her, a vague smile on her face –- the one she got when Eve was deep into whatever article she was reading and didn’t want to ignore her but wasn’t fully paying attention to her either.

“Hi,” Eve murmured back and returned to her magazine.

Villanelle frowned. Eve hadn’t even given her the once-over. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Eve?” she said, putting a question to her name, knowing Eve would respond.

A tiny sigh escaped Eve’s mouth, but she looked at her again, a slight frown on her face. It must be a particularly gruesome piece. She knew from experience that those always drew Eve right in. That was even better for her experiment.

“Yes?”

When she was sure she had Eve’s attention, she very slowly began sliding off her leather jacket, and Eve’s eyes tracked the movement. Widening just imperceptibly when she let the jacket drop to the floor.

Fighting to hide her grin, she shifted from one foot to the other and flexed her arms.

Bingo!

Eve licked her lips, eyes never leaving her arms. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, and she moved restlessly on the bed.

Playing it casual, she asked, “Wanna go out, do something?”

“Hmmmm?” was Eve’s clearly distracted response. Followed by another swipe of her tongue over her unpainted lips. Eve pulled her eyes away from her arms, the reluctance obvious, and met her gaze, “What did you say?”

Smiling at her, Villanelle repeated, “Do you want to go out and do something?” She was 99% sure the answer would be no. If it was yes, she was going to have to be very persuasive in talking Eve out of it. But she was confident she was up to the task, in more ways than one.

Eve blinked a few times, slow, languid blinks that emphasized the dilation of her pupils. Her voice was just the tiniest bit husky when she replied, “Not really.” Aggressive Eve made an appearance then, her eyes flicking from her face to her arms and back again. A tiny smile played about her lips, “Do you want...to go out?”

Hell, no.

Villanelle shook her head slowly. “Nope,” and straightened up from where she’d been leaning against the door frame and started to cross the threshold into the room.

“No,” Eve said hoarsely, her mouth dry, “stay there.”

“Are you alright?”

Eve just nodded and sat up to lean against the headboard. “I just–” she said, and then swallowed against her parched throat, “Do you have any idea how gorgeous you look right now?”

Eve watched as Villanelle took off her pants, leaning against the door frame in nothing but her black underwear and her black tank top.

“Eve,” she called low-voiced, and Eve’s eyes snapped back up to peer at her questioningly. “Admit it,” she said. “You’ve got it bad for my arms.”

Blink.

Eyes dipping to look at the arms in question.

Swallow.

A rush of color to the cheeks.

Blink.

Tongue swiping over lips.

Rasp of a sound. “Yes.”

Villanelle watched as Eve’s eyes dropped to her chest. She could see the effect on Eve clearly, the way her toes dug into the mattress, the way she clasped her hands together to still fingers itching to touch, to mark, to claim.

“You sure you don’t want me to come over there?” Villanelle asked teasingly.

Eve cleared her throat before responding. When she did, her voice was raspy. “No,” she answered, “I just want to look for a minute. Just ... just stay.”

***************************************

Eve drank in the sight before her.

She didn’t mean to stare.

She really didn’t.

But she couldn’t help it.

Villanelle looked just … delicious tonight. Absolutely delectable in her tight, tight tank top. The one with the low-cut front that only barely covered her flawless breasts and put the smooth skin of her arms, the sexy line of her muscles, on display, just for her eyes. The tank top seemed to caress Villanelle’s body, hugging every line of her torso, every curve of her hips, that one single vein-popping across her arm, her hair falling in a graceful shower down her shoulders, exuding an air of innocence that Eve knows can be devastatingly deceptive.

Eve does not know what to call this *thing* between them anymore. A relationship? She’s never had someone like this. Never been this close. To anyone. Ever. Not even to Niko. She never thought she’d want to either. But now she can’t think of anything else. She’s never felt so...much.

Villanelle would laugh if she knew what a pathetic sap she’s turned her into. She knows she’s better off not letting Villanelle see it, but sometimes she wants to tell her everything. Everything Villanelle is to her and everything she wants for them. Sometimes it builds up in her so strong she feels like she’ll explode if she doesn’t let it out.

Like now.

Just looking at Villanelle like this, Eve can feel the butterflies in her stomach and a burn in the back of her throat, bursting with an ache inside her that she can’t explain at all. She feels happy. Extremely happy. And aroused. Always. All she has to do is just think of Villanelle, and she turns into a randy teenager.

Pressing a hand to her belly to soothe the ache of arousal there, “The buttons,” she said and pointed.

Villanelle unbuttoned the top few buttons of her tank top. It still covered most of her breasts, and she still had on her underwear, but it was the most erotic thing Eve had ever seen, her nerves overloading as her whole body flushed with lust and desire.

Eve peeled off her leggings and underwear and scooted forward until she was sitting on the very edge at the foot of the mattress, where the covers and sheets had been thrown and bunched up from earlier.

And then, she crooked her finger at Villanelle, gesturing for her to come closer. And Villanelle, Villanelle came.

Villanelle pushed off the door frame and crossed the threshold into the room, stopping right in front of Eve, who was perched on the edge of the bed. Villanelle started to shrug out of the tank top, but Eve reached out and stopped her. “Don’t. Leave it on.”

Eve began to touch her. Little caresses.

***************************************

Gentle brushes. The careful, delicate way Eve pressed her full, soft lips to her skin set her nerves on fire. She watched as Eve snuck her hands up her top and cupped her breasts, as Eve’s head dipped down, laying out a path of wet-mouthed kisses down her chest, lingering over the freckles that spotted her skin.

“I want you to watch while I touch you. I want you to see what I see every time I look at you, every time I touch you.”

There was a groan that filled the bedroom and bounced off the walls of the bedroom. It took Villanelle a minute to realize that the groan, that sound, had come from her.

Villanelle’s nipples ached, hard and tight, against the warmth of Eve’s palms, and she felt–more than saw–as Eve massaged them firmly with the heel of her hand.

“You look so hot right now,” Eve said softly and kissed her breasts. Eve ran her thumbs over Villanelle’s nipples, pleased when they perked and hardened under her attention.

Eve began to move further and farther down her body, kissing and licking and tasting. Following the lines of muscles, of bone as her hands spread wide over Villanelle’s stomach, spanning the width of it and warming the flushed skin with the heat of their shared arousal.

Eve leaned forward, laying a kiss right on the warm skin of Villanelle’s abdomen, before taking Villanelle’s hands in her own and bringing them up to grasp on her shoulders for support.

And then she slipped her fingers into the space between the waistband of Villanelle’s underwear and the soft, smooth flesh of her abdomen.

And Villanelle watched. Watched the play of hands against her skin, watched as Eve drew shapes over her skin, as her stomach trembled when Eve raked her teeth along her navel. She watched her body react to Eve’s ministrations, watched her torso bow out as she arched her spine, as her hips began to sway into Eve’s touch.

Eve slowly pulled the black fabric down Villanelle’s legs, and then as Villanelle gripped at her shoulders, she guided the underwear over one foot and then the other, and then tossed them aside.

Eve put her palm on Villanelle’s belly and pushed her gently until she stepped back, just the slightest. And then Eve knelt before her, lips moving along the strong curve of her hips. A kiss, a hard bite, the soothing press of tongue to skin. There would be a mark tomorrow — a lasting reminder of tonight, of this moment. And the idea thrilled Villanelle, that all through the next day, she would feel the tug of tender skin and remember Eve’s teeth against her flesh.

And then Eve sat back on her legs and pulled Villanelle forward and inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of Villanelle’s skin, the smell of her arousal.

“Open your eyes, Oksana,” Eve reminded her, whispering gently along her hip between nips, “Open your eyes, I want you to see.”

Villanelle hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed, hadn’t realized that she wasn’t seeing with her eyes but with her skin, with the electricity of nerves inflamed and burning with need.

And then Eve gripped tightly at Villanelle’s ass and slid her tongue in to circle around her clit. She felt the curtain of Villanelle’s tank top brush at her ears as she alternated between teasing flicks and hard, tight circles on the sensitive nub.

It wasn’t long before Eve could feel the muscles of Villanelle’s inner thighs quivering against her cheeks, could feel the fingers on her shoulders grasping tighter and tighter.

“Eve,” Villanelle said, “fuck.”

Eve shifted her head so she could look up at her Villanelle’s face, tilted it back just the slightest, changing the angle of her tongue’s action against Villanelle’s smooth flesh. Villanelle was watching her, her lips parted. As she did that thing with her tongue that Villanelle really, really liked, Eve watched the way the muscles in Villanelle’s throat moved as she swallowed against the sparks of pleasure emanating through her body.

Villanelle started to rock her hips in time with the rhythm that Eve had set, whimpering every time Eve’s tongue curled around her clit in just the right way.

Eve moved one hand to the small of Villanelle’s back, the base of her spine, and started to massage the muscles there. The other hand, she brought back around to Villanelle’s front and parted her wet, swollen lips and began to slide two fingers through the gathering slickness there.

And then, ever so slowly, she slid two fingers into Villanelle, deep, deep, deep, pleased by the low moan Villanelle gave at the sensation of being filled. And then she stopped, held still within the warmth of Villanelle’s body, feeling as Villanelle clenched around her fingers tightly, and later released, and gripped again.

Villanelle gave an unsatisfied groan, needing to move, wanting Eve to move. And Eve, unable to refuse her anything, gave in.

Eve began to thrust, slowly but firmly, within Villanelle’s hot, wet sex, keeping up her relentless attack on her clit as she did. Soon every touch of tongue to Villanelle’s clit, every movement of her fingers had Villanelle moaning, calling out her name. Villanelle began to thrust in time with Eve’s fingers and tongue, nudging against Eve’s nose with each roll of her hips, and the grip of her fingers on Eve’s shoulders growing almost painful.

When Villanelle’s pelvic bone collided with her nose a second and third time, Eve made a decision. She slowed her pace and gradually withdrew from her body.

“Don’t stop,” Villanelle whispered, voice thready.

But Eve thrust her tongue back as far as it would go toward Villanelle’s entrance and lapped at the wet arousal there, hmm-ing in satisfaction at the familiar salty-sweet.

And as Villanelle watched, Eve brought her wet fingers up to her mouth and cleaned them. Villanelle swore, and thrust her hips almost mindlessly, seeking out contact, any contact.

Eve rose and took Villanelle by the hand before stepping back and mounting the bed. She scooted backward, pulling her Villanelle with her until she was laying back against the headboard, and Villanelle was kneeling between her legs, trembling, her entire body hovering on edge.

Eve reached up to rub a thumb over Villanelle’s bottom lip, felt as Villanelle drew it into her mouth, wrapped her tongue around it. Eve bit at her bottom lip and tried not to moan.

She reached over into the bedside table with her free hand, feeling for the bottle of lube and the bright blue toy they kept there. When she saw what Eve was thinking, Villanelle shuddered in anticipation, fingers clenching tightly at her own thighs as she watched Eve insert the shorter end of the toy into herself.

Eve poured a small amount of lube into her palm, and Villanelle’s eyes followed her every movement, watching as Eve’s pale hand caressed the silicone, spreading the sweetly-scented lubricant all over it.

“You ready?” Eve asked. When she nodded, Eve took Villanelle’s hands and tugged her forward, urging her to rise and settle over her hips.

Villanelle hovered over her, as she slowly, slowly lowered herself onto the toy. The noise that escaped her throat was guttural, animalistic, raw, and she clutched desperately at Eve’s hands.

For a moment, Villanelle was entirely still, and Eve followed suit, not wanting to move before she was ready.

And then Villanelle began to move, rising up on her knees and then sitting back down. And with every movement, every clench of her muscles, every rise and fall, Eve felt the echo within her own sex, against her own clit. The brush of fabric against her hips, her stomach.

Villanelle moved faster and faster, her breathing heavier and heavier as she went, Eve meeting her stroke for stroke. Overwhelmed by the feel of being filled, no longer capable of words, short moans were the only sound Villanelle was able to make. They punctuated every thrust of Eve’s hips, every rise and fall of Villanelle’s body atop her.

Villanelle broke the link between their hands, and leaned forward, planting her hands on the headboard behind Eve. Her moans got higher and higher with the new angle of Eve’s thrusts, and Eve wrapped a hand around the back of Villanelle’s head, brought her down for a kiss.

Eve rested her other hand on the small of Villanelle’s back again, steadying her as she moved, as she raced toward the edge. Villanelle gripped Eve’s chin and thrust her tongue past Eve’s lips desperately, hungry for every bit of skin, every part of Eve that she could touch.

As Eve felt Villanelle start to tremble, that familiar shudder of her body, Eve reached down and swiped her thumb against Villanelle’s clit.

And that was it, that was the final straw.

Villanelle moaned and thrust frantically, and Eve watched as she closed her eyes and scrunched up her face, so focused on her pleasure.

Eve grasped the fabric of her tank top in her other hand, massaging the tensing muscles of Villanelle’s back through the cotton.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Eve whispered in Villanelle’s ear, peppering tiny, chaste kisses along her neck, her face.

Finally, finally, between the ruthless thrusting and the furious caress of Eve’s fingers against her clit, Villanelle came.

Eve knew it from the way Villanelle’s face went slack and relaxed. Eve continued to thrust, even as Villanelle collapsed atop her as she sighed heavily and licked away a droplet of sweat along her neck, chest heaving against Eve’s own. Eve continued to thrust into Villanelle until she, too, went over the edge. Her release startled her with its suddenness and fury. So hard she feared her heart would stop, so complete her entire body shook with it.

They lay together, entwined. Complete. Holding one another. Listening to their own heartbeats merging and settling into the same rhythm. Eve closes her eyes and feels the soft, soft caress of Villanelle’s lips. She’s never been kissed like this before, wholly. Entirely.

She sees the whole future ahead, and Villanelle by her side at every step, every junction, every twist, and turn. She sees the good days and the bad, she sees the triumphs and the tragedies, she sees it all.

She sees Villanelle, always.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Feedback is nourishment for the soul, and as always, will be met with open arms 🤗 Flames are met with marshmallows.


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